


Cast No Shadow

by menel



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:17:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2762759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fight or fuck,” Alex declared. “That’s what’s happening between us.” Or how Michael and Alex reach certain conclusions during a particular Yuletide holiday.</p><p>Written for the 2014 Advent Calendar prompt 'Christmas cookies.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am deeply amused that the idea for this fic came from the prompt 'Christmas cookies' because given what has happened to the fic, I'm not entirely sure how these Christmas cookies are going to make an appearance, but I shall persevere. :)

By the time Alex pushed open the door to his childhood home, his anger had all but dissipated. He’s always been impulsive and easy to provoke. He knows he shouldn’t let Michael rile him up so quickly, especially since the Archangel wasn’t doing it on purpose. It’s just . . . dammit. Michael could be so _frustrating_ at times. Of course, Alex could also admit (only to himself) that his frustration with Michael stemmed from other less-than-pure sources. 

Sexual tension.

He wondered if the Archangel was really as immune to it as he seemed. Alex has heard the stories surrounding Michael’s sexual escapades. Who in the Archangel Corps hadn’t? The stories were at odds with Michael’s aloof and imperious public persona, but in a way they made sense to Alex. A whole mythology had been built around the Archangel’s appetites, his stamina and his proclivities. They could just be stories except Alex had proof. Occasionally, Michael asked members of the Corps – the ones who could be trusted, who showed the most discretion – to escort his ‘guests’ from the Stratosphere after one of their ‘evenings.’ Noma had been part of that detail several times; Ethan kept praying that he’d be put on that detail; Alex had never been asked. 

It’s probably a good thing that Alex had never been asked. Right now all he had to rely on was his imagination and a few choice details that Noma let slip through from time to time. (“Tonight two of them were men. Really hot,” Noma had once said approvingly. “Michael’s got good taste.”) Alex had wanted to ask how Noma defined ‘really hot’ but since he and Noma had had their own ‘thing’ not too long ago, he reckoned he hadn’t done too badly on her scale. Of course, that line of thought led him to think that maybe he could be Michael’s type after all, if Michael ever gave him a second look (never mind a first look). All this had been before Alex’s destiny had been revealed to him. 

The Chosen One. 

What bullshit.

The idea of being humankind’s next Messiah was something he still couldn’t quite accept, even though he was going through the motions of preparing ( _for what?_ his mind screamed) and training with Michael. Suddenly the Archangel who had barely given him a glance during basic training (or so he thought) for Vega’s military would not leave him alone. He was under Michael’s ‘protection,’ whatever that meant, and they seemed to be spending all their time together now. If only they didn’t spend half of that time fighting or butting heads. Alex thought it was both a blessing and curse. He finally had the Archangel’s undivided attention, this supernatural being he’d held a fascination for since he was a child, since he’d found out that Michael and his dad were _friends_. (How the hell did you become friends with an _Archangel_? Now the answer seemed painfully obvious.) But this wasn’t the sort of attention he wanted. And the tension! It was enough to make Alex rip his hair out. Because that’s what it always came down to for him – the sexual tension – and the fact that they weren’t _doing_ anything about it. If this thing with Michael was going to work they’d have to get rid of this tension, at the very least, _acknowledge_ it. And since Michael seemed completely oblivious to it with his cool Archangel veneer, then Alex was going to do something about it. 

That was THE PLAN.

* * * * *

Alex found Michael in the kitchen. The Archangel was rummaging around, opening drawers and cupboards. Alex didn’t spare a thought for what Michael might have been looking for. He exhaled loudly and said, “We need to talk.”

Michael must’ve heard him coming, probably could’ve heard him pacing outside the house. He knew that the Archangel possessed extra keen senses. Michael carefully shut the handle of the drawer that he was holding and turned around. His look was appraising, his keen gaze almost rooting Alex to the spot. 

_Not this time_ , Alex thought. If Michael had been expecting an apology, he wasn’t going to get it. At least, not yet. With another deep breath Alex marched into the small kitchen, pulling out the chair nearest to him and sitting down heavily at the table. He sat in a sprawl, his body language loose but also passively aggressive, his hands on his thighs. After a moment, he gestured to the vacant chair in front of him indicating that Michael should also take a seat. 

Alex could read the glint in the Archangel’s eyes, see the calculation in his gaze. Michael pulled out the chair and sat down, his movements elegant and precise. Everything about the Archangel was elegant and precise. It was all so maddening. Just like his ever-present sensuality was maddening. Michael was sex on legs. Or sex on wings. Everything about him was just too much of a distraction. Alex looked down at his hands, gathering his composure before looking up at the Archangel again.

“So,” he began. “We need to talk about it.” 

“You will need to elaborate on what you mean by ‘it,’” Michael replied calmly. 

“This. Us. Our _relationship_ ,” Alex said, gesturing between them somewhat impatiently. 

“Continue.”

Alex was suddenly at a loss. This whole thing was his idea and Michael was waiting for him to speak, but he’d never been particularly good at expressing himself. Actions spoke so much louder than words. It was a cliché, but that didn’t make it any less true. 

“Are you telling me that you don’t feel anything between us?” Alex eventually demanded. 

“What do you mean?” Michael’s tone was so calm, so unperturbed. 

“I mean . . .” Alex struggled with the appropriate expression and gave up. “Fight or fuck,” he declared. 

Michael tilted his head to the right. It was a familiar action. It meant the Archangel didn’t understand, that some peculiar human trait or idiom had passed him by. 

“Fight or fuck,” Alex repeated. “That’s what’s happening between us.” 

“Explain.” 

Alex let out an exasperated sigh. Any explanation that he launched into would turn into a tirade. He could feel it. It was the tension simmering in his bones. _Oh, what the hell?_ he thought. He _needed_ to get this out of his system and whatever happened . . . would happen.

“Look, ever since the tattoos transferred to me you’ve been stuck to me like glue. And I get it. I’m under your _protection_ , whatever that means. But you can’t keep suffocating me like this. I need space. I’ve been on my own since I was ten. I don’t need some giant peacock suddenly hovering over me. And I still don’t believe this Chosen One crap either. I never have. I’m no Savior. It doesn’t matter what you think these tattoos say. And in case you haven’t noticed, we fight, like, _all the time_. I mean, it feels like all the time. Don’t you wonder why that is? Am I not attractive enough for you or something? Because it seems like you’ve slept with half the city. Y’know, the gorgeous, beautiful half. So maybe I’m not in their league, but I’m not _that_ unattractive. Or is it the whole Chosen One thing? You think I’m off-limits to you because I’m the Chosen One? Because if that’s it, then that’s just totally stupid.” Alex paused and took a deep breath, eyeing the Archangel. “Say something,” he demanded. 

“I am still trying to decipher your meaning.” 

Alex made an impatient sound and stood up, his chair scraping on the floor. He wasn’t very good at sitting still and Michael had enough stillness for the both of them. He began to pace distractedly in front of the Archangel. He knew he hadn’t made much sense, but another part of him was simply irritated. Why didn’t Michael get it? 

“Are you propositioning me?” Michael suddenly asked, breaking the silence between them and halting Alex’s pacing. 

Alex was too stunned to reply and Michael continued. 

“If I am to parse your meaning, you are dissatisfied with our relationship because you believe I am over-protective, which results in our continual fighting. Following your formula of ‘fight or fuck,’ you are suggesting that we try the other half of the equation. Since we seem to ‘fight all the time,’ perhaps fucking would improve things between us. Is this correct?” 

Alex’s mouth nearly dropped open in shock. Michael’s assessment, said in such a frank and logical manner (and really, why was _that_ such a turn on?) was exactly what Alex meant to say. But somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to admit this so he grumbled instead, “It’s not a formula.”

“It is a crude but effective human expression,” Michael conceded, standing up as well. When he walked over to Alex’s side of the table, Alex began to grow alarmed. Turned on, but also a little alarmed. 

“I find you very attractive,” Michael said, backing Alex into the counter behind him. “I would go so far as to say that you are ‘my type.’” 

Michael was resting his hands on the counter behind Alex, effectively trapping his young charge in place. He leaned in, causing Alex’s breathing to hitch. Michael’s words and actions were having a pleasant effect on him, judging by the warmth pooling in his groin. It was a relief to find out that the attraction wasn’t one-sided after all. 

“You are also correct in thinking that being the Chosen One has made you ‘off-limits,’” Michael went on, earning another exasperated sigh from his charge. “But even if that were not the case,” he continued seamlessly. “I would not invite you to one of those –” 

“Orgies?” Alex offered. 

“Evenings,” Michael countered, giving Alex a warning look. 

“Because?” Alex prodded, unable to stop his cheeky grin. 

“I would want more from you.” 

“More?” 

“A connection.” 

Alex’s heart almost leapt into his throat. This was even better than he had hoped for. Not only did Michael want to fuck him, but the Archangel also wanted _more_ than just to fuck him. Why hadn’t they talked about this before? 

“I see you are not very interested in that –” 

“You’re wrong,” Alex blurted out. “I am. Interested.” 

“ – but I believe your idea has merit nonetheless.” 

There was a sudden stillness as they spoke over each other. Michael was so close. Alex could feel the angel’s body heat through their clothes. He reached out, wrapping his arms around the angel’s waist and pulled him forward, removing what little distance there was between them in order to bring their lower bodies into alignment. He wanted Michael to feel how hard he already was just from the Archangel’s words. 

“Fuck, Michael. Are you going to kiss me or what?” Alex said when Michael gave no sign that he was going to initiate anything. Alex made the decision for him, yanking the Archangel down by the collar of his long coat and kissing him.


	2. Chapter 2

The room smelled musty and the sheets scratched against Alex’s skin, but they were surprisingly clean. Jeep had maintained the little house that Alex had grown up in as a child, even though Alex hadn’t known at the time that his mother had died here. It took a lot of strength, Alex thought, for Jeep to return to this place after a tragedy like that. He supposed it meant that the good times had outweighed the bad; perhaps even that more good memories could be made here including what had happened that day, which was turning out to be a very memorable one indeed. The day wasn’t over yet as Alex was reminded of when feather-light kisses trailed up his back, following the outline of his shoulder blade. 

“The next time we do this,” Alex said lazily. “It’s going to be on that gigantic bed of yours.” 

There was a soft chuckle behind him, a kiss planted at the base of his neck, fingers ghosting over the line of tattoos on the right side of his back.

Abruptly, Alex opened his eyes. “We _are_ going to do this again,” he said suddenly, his statement carrying the inflection of a question. An irrational fear had seized him that for Michael this could be a one-time deal, that Michael might change his mind about wanting ‘more.’ The Archangel was so difficult to read at times. 

A pause. A kiss on his shoulder. A voice in his ear. 

“Yes.”

Alex released a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding and smiled into the pillow, knowing that Michael couldn’t see. The Archangel was moving over him. He felt the bed dip as Michael shifted his weight. Alex thought Michael was reaching for something and then the Archangel was back, fingers slick with oil, rubbing down Alex’s flank before moving to the crack between his cheeks. The finger that entered him wasn’t really a surprise but he inadvertently tensed anyway. His body wasn’t used to the intrusion. A second finger soon joined the first, stretching and probing. Michael was going to properly prepare him this time. 

“Already?” Alex murmured into the pillow, even as he pushed back against the invading fingers. He was still sore – Michael had hardly been gentle in the kitchen – but even he was amazed at how quickly his body was responding to Michael’s touch. 

“I generally have more than one partner for a reason,” the Archangel answered, the amusement evident in his voice.

Alex opened his eyes again. He’d never doubted the rumors about Michael’s stamina, but the thought of sharing Michael with anybody else filled him with a sudden spike of jealousy. _Who was the possessive one now?_ he wondered. Alex rolled over, dislodging Michael’s hand from his body. It was too soon to make demands. They were in unchartered territory as it was, but if Michael wanted another round, he could do that. Hell, he could go _several_ more rounds, just . . . 

“Slow, yeah?” he said. Gentle is what he meant.

Michael’s hand was already on him again, this time on his cock, which was rapidly showing its interest in Michael’s actions. The Archangel was leaning over him and the kiss he gave Alex was languid and exploratory, wet and open-mouthed. 

“Slow,” he agreed, his slicked hand moving easily over Alex’s cock, forming a warm tunnel, his grip just right.

Alex was melting into Michael’s touch and he stretched out more fully on his back, spreading his legs to accommodate the angel. Michael took the hint and covered Alex’s body with his own. _This_ , Alex thought, as he pulled Michael closer to him, _is the difference between ‘fucking’ and ‘making love.’_

“This is easier if you turn around,” Michael told him, his hand releasing Alex’s cock and returning to its previous task. Alex compensated by reaching down and taking himself in hand, his other hand securely behind Michael’s neck. He wanted to keep the Archangel close to him. 

“No,” Alex replied. “I want to see you this time.”

Michael nodded and Alex felt a warmth suffuse his chest at the unguarded affection he saw in Michael’s expression. The Archangel had never looked at him that way before. At least, not to Alex’s knowledge but Alex was only beginning to understand how little he had really known. 

Their first encounter in the kitchen had hurt – _a lot_ – more than Alex would probably ever admit. That first kiss had been like a spark plug, a damn breaking and whatever inhibitions Michael had held towards him had been stripped away. Instantly. The kiss had quickly become bruising, a battle for dominance that seemed to mirror almost all their interaction of late. Alex had found himself on the losing end (another typical occurrence), pressed tightly against the counter as Michael had seized control. Then clothes had roughly been shed; or rather, Alex’s clothes had roughly been shed. Before he’d realized it, he was leaning over the counter with his legs spread, restricted by his pants that had pooled at his feet, his hands braced against the counter. The position had reminded him of punishments he’d received in the past, of lashings on his back from the hand of Michael’s whip. It had sent his imagination into overdrive, thinking of how he could be punished in the future, if Michael were kinky enough for that sort of thing. He suspected that the Archangel was.

But at that moment Michael had been busy opening cabinet shelves, one hand pressing down on the small of Alex’s back to hold him in place (as if Alex had any intention of going anywhere). Vaguely, Alex had remembered that he’d walked in on Michael rummaging through the same shelves and through his lust-filled haze he’d realized that the shelves weren’t empty at all. There were supplies in the kitchen, although he couldn’t understand why. He’d been grateful though, when Michael had produced a small bottle of cooking oil. It was something to use because Alex, despite his ‘fight or fuck’ ultimatum, hadn’t thought far enough ahead to the practicalities of lube, much less condoms. The prep had been cursory, however, shortened in part by Alex’s demands for Michael to, “Hurry up” and “Just fuck me already!” 

Michael had obliged, and the lack of prep was something that Alex would come to rue later when that first breach of his body had him biting down on his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out. Michael had girth and length, and Alex would feel every inch of it as the Archangel pushed inside. He’d shut his eyes and hung his head in an effort to block out the pain, to will his body to relax against the intrusion of being filled. Michael had persevered, only pausing briefly when he was fully sheathed, their bodies flush against each other, Alex trembling slightly from the strangeness and the discomfort. Then the angel was moving again, shallow thrusts that had soon grown into deep, even strokes, his fingers digging into Alex’s hip. Alex had borne the force of Michael’s thrusts, but the pain had continued to gnaw at him, turning into a redness at the side of his vision and dampening his lust. Still, he wouldn’t tell Michael to stop, not when this had been his idea, not when he’d practically begged to be fucked. He’d felt his erection flagging until the Archangel changed his angle and rubbed against a spot that sent a jolt of pleasure up his spine and a moan had escaped him. Michael had brushed the nub again and the pain receded, replaced by little bursts of pleasure that had begun to roll over Alex in waves. That’s when he’d started pushing back and Michael had taken his neglected cock in hand, pumping him in time to the angel’s thrusts. Alex had unraveled quickly after that, his orgasm almost taking him by surprise as he’d spilled into Michael’s hand. The Archangel was still moving in him, propping him up with an arm around Alex’s waist as he’d followed his body’s internal rhythm and driven to his own release. 

Alex had felt a wetness fill him, the tightening of Michael’s grip around his waist his only warning before the angel had come. By the time Michael was riding the high of his own release, Alex had already come down from his orgasm and as he gathered his wits, a cold dread was beginning to replace that bliss. That dread had been the clarity of what had just happened and the terrible uncertainty of what would happen next. Michael was still inside him, his forehead resting on Alex’s shoulder and Alex had felt the Archangel’s breathing slowly return to normal. Then the arm that had held his body flush against Michael’s released him and that first rush of cool air against his heated skin had been a shock to his system. The Archangel was pulling away and Alex had felt the loss, his dread rising and transforming into a muted panic. He couldn’t _see_ Michael, hadn’t been able to see him the whole time. He didn’t know what Michael was thinking. 

But then the Archangel was turning him around and Alex had had the presence of mind to finally step out of his constricting pants before he tripped over them. Michael had remained fully clothed except for his crotch that was undone. 

“Are you all right?” the Archangel had asked him quietly.

Alex had nodded, unable to find his voice. “Yeah,” he’d said eventually, caving under Michael’s scrutiny. 

It was mostly true. He was sore in places he didn’t think it was possible to be sore in and he was an emotional wreck, but Michael hadn’t run away (or flown away) and Alex could see the concern in the angel’s dark eyes, he could hear it in Michael’s voice. 

“Yeah,” he’d said again, more confidently, reaching out to touch Michael’s cheek.

The action had been aborted by the Archangel catching his wrist. Instead, Michael had brought Alex’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. When the angel had leaned in again to kiss him, Alex had known that everything would be all right.


	3. Chapter 3

Alex woke up in the early evening. The room was dark, but he could see a light in the hallway filtering in through the partially open door. He remembered drowsily asking Michael if they could spend the night here. He didn’t recall the Archangel agreeing, but judging by the lack of light outside perhaps Michael had capitulated. He still felt sore but the ache was pleasant. It was a physical reminder of how his relationship with Michael had changed – for the better, he hoped. The other reminder of how things had changed were the dirty bed sheets. He wondered if the Archangel was a stickler for hygiene. Judging by what Alex had seen of the Stratosphere, the answer would be ‘yes.’ 

Alex sat up, wincing at the weight he put on his backside. All right, sitting down might be a challenge for a day or two. He began looking for his clothes, settling for his white undershirt and his boxers. It seemed like too much effort to put on anything else, and the rule about keeping the tattoos hidden didn’t apply when it was just the two of them. Barefoot, he walked out into the hallway following the source of light. Passing by an open window, he heard the hum of a generator outside. The light led Alex back to the kitchen where he found Michael . . . well, it took several seconds for him to figure out what was going on. Out of all the strange things that had happened on that day, this was probably the strangest and that was saying something. 

“Are you . . . baking?” Alex asked, standing in the doorway looking a little dumfounded.

The Archangel spared him a glance but otherwise didn’t interrupt his actions. Michael was bending over the table, putting the finishing touches of frosting on what looked like tree-shaped cookies. “Yes,” he said simply. 

Alex stepped into the kitchen and pulled out a chair at the head of the table, careful not to disturb Michael’s work. He couldn’t help wincing as he gingerly sat down again, shifting to find an angle that was the least uncomfortable. He also caught the faint smirk that was tugging at the corners of the Archangel’s lips in reaction to his predicament. 

“You ever going to let me fuck you?” he asked out of the blue.

“You have a filthy mouth, Sergeant Lannon,” Michael answered, not breaking his concentration. Before Alex could demonstrate how filthy he could be, Michael continued. “I am not opposed to the idea,” he said and that response was enough to short circuit Alex’s brain. His quick retort had transformed into an idiotic grin. 

“We would have to be careful, however,” Michael added. 

Alex instantly knew what the angel meant. “Your wings,” he supplied.

Michael’s wings invariably came out as the Archangel neared his peak. Not every time, Alex reflected now, causing him to marvel at the Archangel’s control. But those wings were lethal. One moment they could be the softest down, the next they could be the sharpest of razor blades. They could effortlessly cut him to pieces leading Alex to the same conclusion – marveling at Michael’s control. 

Michael nodded but continued his work. They stayed that way in companionable silence as Michael carefully frosted the strange cookies, highlighting to Alex how things really had changed between them. This kind of peaceful companionship would’ve been impossible just a few hours ago. 

Each cookie was about the size of Alex’s palm. They were triangular in shape, each ‘tree’ cut into three layers. The cookies were covered in a green frosting and Michael was putting the finishing touches of white frosting, which he was lacing across the three layers of the cookies in a smooth, wavelike motion. Alex could see the baking pans that Michael must’ve used to shape the cookies into the unusual design. In fact, now that he was taking the time to look around the kitchen (as opposed to simply being fucked against a counter), he was realizing how well stocked the kitchen was, why Michael had known where to find the cooking oil earlier. The kitchen had a ‘used’ feel and was even better maintained than the rest of the house. Alex looked back at the Archangel suspiciously. 

“You do this often?” he asked. 

“Clarify.” 

“Baking?” 

Michael did look up this time. “Not as often as I would like,” he admitted. 

“You like to bake?” Alex asked incredulously, even as the evidence was right in front of him.

“I find all forms of human food preparation fascinating,” Michael answered. He’d finished frosting the last cookie and put the – Alex had no idea what it was called – the tourniquet-type-thing he’d been using to squeeze out the frosting on the side of the table and sat down. 

“Are you telling me that you like to cook?” Alex asked, still unable to wrap his head around the concept. 

“Everyone has their hobbies.” 

“Cooking is your _hobby_?”

Alex thought his brain was breaking from this newfound knowledge that was making him see Michael in a different light. Judging by the faintly amused expression on the Archangel’s face, Michael knew Alex’s brain was breaking too. 

“But how? Where?” Alex asked, unable to form a coherent question. “Where do you cook?” he finally managed to get out. “Is there a kitchen in the Stratosphere?” Because all he’d ever been able to see in the Stratosphere was that ginormous bed. Admittedly, all he’d had on his mind whenever he was in the Stratosphere was sex but hey, he was a healthy young man. 

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Michael confirmed. 

“There is?” Alex had to stop talking. He was starting to feel like an idiot, but his brain hadn’t received that message because he followed up his question with, “How can anything else fit aside from your bed?”

Michael’s amusement grew. Alex could see it in the twinkle of the Archangel’s eyes although very little of that amusement was expressed in Michael’s face. 

“You would look very good on that bed,” Michael told him softly.

The compliment, said so tenderly and filled with so much warmth, took Alex by surprise and he found himself blushing. He cleared his throat as he looked down, unable to meet Michael’s gaze. Instead, he focused on the finished cookies. 

“So, do I get to try one of those?” he asked. Alex realized he was starving. Unless Michael was going to whip up dinner (wasn’t _that_ a thought), all they had to eat were military rations from the pick-up and cookies for dessert. 

“I made them for you,” Michael said, pushing the batch of cookies in Alex’s direction.

“What exactly are they?” Alex asked, the warmth in his cheeks returning. (Michael had made him _cookies_.) “I mean, I know they’re cookies,” he corrected, exasperated at his own inarticulateness. “But why are they shaped like . . .” He picked one of them up. “Trees?” 

“It’s a remnant from a human holiday before the Extermination War,” Michael explained. “A Christmas tree, often decorated from the evergreen conifer trees most commonly found in the northern hemisphere.” 

“A Christmas tree?” Alex repeated dubiously. 

“You are not the first Messiah in humankind’s history.” 

The cookie suddenly felt very heavy in Alex’s hand as though it had transformed into a paperweight. _Of course_ , Michael wouldn’t do something as simple as bake him cookies. The Archangel would bake him cookies that had _religious_ significance; that would tie into his destiny somehow. Because that’s who Michael was. 

“Are you going to give me a history lesson?” Alex asked in a flat tone. 

To answer Alex’s question, Michael did something he never would have done before. He reached out and placed a hand on Alex’s arm, fingers running over the blue tattoos that were etched there. He gave Alex’s forearm a gentle squeeze and said, “Will you listen to it?” 

Alex felt his tension bleed away and he nodded. He liked this Michael, this tactile, affectionate Michael. It made the Archangel seem much more personable, much more . . . human. 

“Humans used to celebrate a holiday called Christmas,” Michael began. “Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. It was called such because it marked the birth of Christ, the Messiah. Perhaps you’ve heard of the holiday.” 

“A bit,” Alex replied. “Jeep mentioned people giving presents and stuff.”

Michael nodded. “Presents that were often put under Christmas trees to be opened on Christmas Day, or Boxing Day in earlier times,” the Archangel confirmed. “Christmas was, among other things, supposed to be about the spirit of giving. As the centuries passed, that idea became an afterthought. By the late twentieth and early twenty-first century, Christmas had become one of the most heavily commercial and most exploitative holidays on the human calendar.” 

“You think that’s why God got pissed?” 

“I do not presume to know my Father’s thoughts,” Michael said, his hand now trailing down Alex’s arm, until it rested in Alex’s hand. Alex’s fingers closed over Michael’s hand immediately, holding the Archangel in a light grip. 

“I do know that you being here has changed everything,” Michael continued. “That my actions – saving you as an infant – have bound us together on this journey, one that we must see through to the end.”

Alex’s grip on Michael’s hand tightened. He could feel his tension returning. “I didn’t mean it,” he suddenly said. 

Michael tilted his head and gave Alex an inquiring look. 

“What I said about not trusting you,” Alex finished off in a rush. He took a deep breath. “I _do_ trust you,” he said slowly. _I have always trusted you_ , his mind supplied.

Michael’s smile was gentle; his thumb rubbing across the back of Alex’s knuckles, soothing. “Do not dismiss what the tattoos revealed to you,” he said. 

“You’re telling me _not_ to trust you?” 

“On the contrary, I _need_ your trust.” Michael paused. “Trust can be a fragile thing and though I would never willingly break yours or anyone else’s, there may come a time in the future when circumstances beyond my control may result in that happening. I am not infallible, Alex.” 

“I suppose that would be God,” Alex said ruefully. 

“Father is not infallible either,” Michael contradicted. “That is humanity’s fanciful invention.” 

“So where does that leave us?” 

“Here,” Michael said simply. “With what we have, with what we can build.”

Alex realized that he was still holding the cookie in his other hand. His grumbling stomach reminded him that he was hungry and he took a bite. “Shit,” he said, after taking a second bite. “This is really good.” 

“Oatmeal cranberry,” Michael said, answering Alex’s unspoken question. “One of my favorites.” 

“May I request double-chocolate chip next time?” Alex teased. 

“You may,” the Archangel deadpanned back. 

Alex grinned and took another cookie from the batch. “So, what happened to Christmas?” he asked, still holding onto Michael’s hand. “Why don’t we celebrate it anymore?”

“The founding families of Vega wanted a clean slate,” Michael answered. “Humanity had been disillusioned by God, by the Christian religion as they had known and practiced it.” Michael paused, picked up a cookie and had a bite. He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed before speaking again. “In a way, Christmas is still celebrated. It is merely called something else.” 

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“The Day of the Savior.” 

Alex was about to take another bite but he stopped, holding the cookie in midair as he looked at the Archangel. 

“It is your birthday, Alex.” 

Alex shook his head. “I grew up thinking my birthday was on January 5,” he replied. 

“Now you know better.”

Alex thought about the Day of the Savior. It was so different from the Christmas holiday that Michael had described. There were no Christmas trees or presents or festivities of any kind. It was a somber holiday. It almost felt like a day of mourning, where people went to mass and lit candles in the windows of their homes. These candles often illuminated a familiar image, that of two hands holding an infant, which had come to be known as the mark of the Savior. Alex had once heard William Whele explain why the Day of the Savior was such a ‘serious’ holiday. It was humanity’s time of penance, the Principe had said. It was humanity’s job to be watchful, to be vigilant, and to wait until the Savior came. When that day finally arrived, the Day of the Savior would transform into a day of rejoicing. 

“Y’know, the Day of the Savior is tomorrow,” Alex pointed out. 

“The Day of the Savior is in five hours,” Michael corrected, once again demonstrating his predilection for precision. 

“Is this my Christmas gift?” Alex asked somewhat cheekily, gesturing towards the cookies. 

“If you wish.” 

“What if I wanted something else?” 

“What would that ‘something’ be?” 

“You.”

The Archangel inclined his head, his thumb gently rubbing against the pulse point on Alex’s wrist. There was no doubt he could feel the increase in Alex’s heart rate at the confession. 

“I am already yours,” he said. 

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

>  _Dominion_ belongs to Syfy and Vaun Wilmott. No offense is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
